poison
by faces sunward
Summary: team rocket is human nature. — red, giovanni


Red is thirteen years old when he leaves Pallet Town for the first time, gleaming new Pokeball in hand, his pack stuffed full of unnecessary equipment and his cap pulled down over his eyes. He's a quiet kid with quiet hopes, who takes the world at face value and believes in nothing he can't see with his own two eyes.

"Jaded already," his mother murmurs with an exasperated smile. She ruffles his dark hair affectionately.

_No_, he thinks, and turns away from the litany of violence and despair on the television screen. _Just realistic._

He sets out on his journey without a true destination in mind, simply knowing that he has to goor else wallow in Pallet Town's mediocrity forever. Looking back, he realizes that it must have been some sort of rebellious teenage phase to make him think this way, because the Pallet Town of his memories is almost beautiful in its innocence.

An old man on Route 1, skin mottled by wrinkles and age spots, blind eyes pearlescent in the fading sun, calls out to him from beneath a gnarled oak tree.

"Come here, boy," he says, voice rough with disuse, and Red glances at him warily. His Charmander seems at ease, though, walking over and nuzzling the man's hand, and so Red edges closer cautiously.

"You've the aura of a Champion about you, boy," the old man growls, grinning a toothless grin. "You're gonna do somethin' great, mark my words."

Red says nothing. In life, he's found, when you're lost for words it's always best to hold your tongue.

His Charmander stares up at him balefully, and for a moment Red sees a flicker of hidden power there – the potential to ignite at any moment, a wildfire waiting to burn. And Red thinks that maybe, just maybe, he'll set his goals a little higher, because the world's only getting harsher and he might as well make his mark while he can.

Later, he stands outside the locked doors of the Viridian Gym and frowns as a shady young man says "sorry kid, the gym leader's been gone for months" and "try the gym in Pewter, it's just through the forest". Red looks up into the dusty, tinted windows of the gym, crimson eyes narrowed in suspicion.

He stares into the darkened window, and the man within stares right back.

.

In a sense, Team Rocket has always been.

Since the very beginning, back when man first laid eyes upon a Pokémon and thought only of how to use it, tame it, control it, Team Rocket has existed. And decades into the future, even after every emblazoned red 'R' has faded into oblivion, it will live on in cruel smiles and tainted souls. Because Team Rocket is more than an organization.

Team Rocket is human nature.

In every heart, no matter how pure, is a place of darkness and disease, a shadowy flicker of malice, where cruel desires dwell and fester. In every heart is the capacity to abuse and exploit, to take advantage of those beings that are weaker than themselves for means that are less than virtuous.

Giovanni knows this. He sees what his dear mother was unable to – that, when stripped of all that makes them righteous and just, everyone is a member of Team Rocket.

His mother had come before him, shaping this organization of the blatantly human, this celebration of all that is rotten and despicable and oh so irrevocable. She had been the first Boss, yes, but no will remember her fondly. She had been too single-minded, his mother, too devoted to her so-called "worthy cause", and history does not laud the zealots. Instead, years later whispers will still pass from ear to ear of a dark-eyed gentleman in suave Italian suits, his mannerisms impeccable, his authority as quiet and vicious as a concealed blade.

History will remember Giovanni, because he is the one with truth behind his tight-lipped smiles.

.

He first meets the boy with red eyes in the Rocket hideout beneath the Celadon casino. He's been watching the surveillance system with keen interest for the past half hour, watching as the boy worked his way down through the levels, occasionally stopping to decimate the guards in his path. Giovanni is intrigued by this boy. He is a skilled trainer, that much is obvious, and he carries himself with a kind of confidence – no, a kind of _certainty_ – that shows the makings of greatness. When he arrives in the Boss's room, with a small singe mark on his sleeve as his only battle wound, Giovanni is waiting for him.

"How may I help you?" he murmurs, fingers steepled in an elegant fashion.

"You are the one they call Giovanni?" the boy asks. He can't be a day over fourteen, the Rocket Boss thinks, but already his voice his tinged with solemn apathy.

"Indeed I am. And you are…?"

"Red."

"Red? Of course, of course… Why are you here, Red?"

"To stop Team Rocket."

At this, Giovanni almost laughs. "My boy, I fail to see how the affairs of Team Rocket are any of your concern! You are young, so it is only fitting that you would wish to play the hero – to rescue Kanto from its plagues and ills. But it's a fool's errand you embark on, my boy." He leans across the desk, observing the inscrutable teenager before him. "You seem like an astonishingly adept trainer, so here is my challenge to you: Beat the Gym Leaders. Defeat the Elite Four. Dethrone the Champion, and change the face of the Kanto League. Forget about Team Rocket, Red, and in turn Team Rocket will forget about you. What do you say?"

Red simply stares at him with those haunting crimson eyes, and Giovanni can see the well-oiled cogs of his mind turning. He's an honorable boy, of course, but he's not ignorant. He knows the benefits of a business deal. But then his face goes blank again, like a door being slammed shut, and Giovanni knows that he won't be swayed by promises of comfort and safety.

"I'd rather battle," Red says, and the Boss is not sure whether to think him wise or foolish.

( Years later, the answer will come to him suddenly. Red is neither a wise man nor a fool. He is, in fact, the most human of them all. )

Giovanni sighs dramatically and rises from his seat, taking a Pokeball from his pocket.

"Then a battle you shall have."

.

The first time Giovanni loses to Red, he is surprised by the boy's skill and his own arrogance. But he quickly puts it out of sight, out of mind, distracted by other more pressing matters.

_I was unprepared,_ he thinks. _My Pokemon were not at their strongest. It will not happen again._

The second time he loses to Red, the thorn in his side begins to draw blood, pricking him more deeply with each passing day. He realizes that maybe, just maybe, he was wrong to let the boy walk away that day in Celadon – that he is far more of a threat than anyone could have suspected.

_I was unprepared,_ he thinks bitterly. _How was I to know that he would be so persistent in his attempts? It will not – must not – happen again._

The third time he loses to Red –

"Get up," Giovanni snarls, kicking the bruised and battered Nidoqueen at his feet. The Pokémon flinches, raises her head weakly, fear flashing briefly in her dull eyes, before exhaustion takes over and she faints dead away.

Across the gym, Red returns his Blastoise to its Pokeball. To anyone else, his face would seem as emotionless and imperceptible as always, but Giovanni can see a hint of underlying smugness that sets his teeth on edge.

"I win again," Red says bluntly.

Giovanni feels something then, coiled in the pit of his stomach like a snake waiting to strike. It is something he has not felt for a very long time, not since his mother last sneered down at him with her blood-red smile. It is hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred, pounding through his veins and blurring his vision around the edges. Without another thought he strides across the gym and shoves Red against the wall, taking pleasure from the way those eyes widen in shock (just a fraction, but it's enough). His hands wrap themselves around the boy's pale neck, and for a moment a sense of relief washes over him. _You could kill him now,_ a voice says in his mind. _Squeeze the life right out of him. He'll be out of the way for good, you know. Finish him._

But there isn't any fear in those crimson eyes. There isn't any pain. Even on the edge of death, the boy shows not the slightest hint of emotion.

Because Red knows. He's no prophet, of course, but he can envision his future laid out before him like a book waiting to be written. The old man had told him he was destined for greatness, you see, and heroes don't die at age fourteen with bruises on their necks.

And so it is Red's certainty – a mixed blessing if there ever was one – that saves him once more. Giovanni's grip gradually loosens as he stares into the boy's eyes, until his hands drop to his sides in defeat. Red coughs lightly and massages his neck, running his lithe fingers over the marks left behind, and the Rocket Boss presses the Earth Badge into his outstretched palm.

"I apologize for that outburst, my boy," Giovanni murmurs, as if attempted murder was as civil a topic as the weather. "Lately I've been allowing my emotions to get the best of me. Just another part of getting older, I presume."

"It's fine," Red whispers. "I've always done my best to get under your skin, and it seems I've succeeded. But I've been thinking lately… We're not so different, you and I."

Giovanni stares at him for one last long moment, and then turns away.

"No. No, I suppose we're not." He sighs then, a melancholy sound, and pushes open the door to his secret quarters. "Goodbye, Red. Perhaps in another life we will find that common ground."

.

.

It's midnight in Goldenrod City. The skyscrapers loom overhead, empty windows gaping like dead mens' eyes, and foul steam billows from vents in the rain-slick sidewalk. Red doesn't know why he's wandering this side of town at such an hour. All he knows is that nighttime strolls help clear his mind, and he's had a lot to ponder as of late.

What is there left for him to do? He's beaten the Gym Leaders, challenged the Elite Four, unseated the Champion. He could do it all again, he thinks, but what's the point? The history books, the Hall of Fame… He will be remembered, respected, gossiped about until he becomes more myth than reality. Wanting more at this point would simply be unwise.

_Should I go home?_ Red wonders. _Back to Pallet Town? Back to my mother and my neighbors and a more simple life?_

But he's not sure he can live a normal life after everything he's been through.

He turns into an alleyway, sunken in shadows and littered with urban debris, and finds himself face to face with someone both familiar and strange.

"Hello, Red," Giovanni says, as if he's been expecting him. It's only been three and a half years, but the Rocket Boss looks older by a lifetime. Lines of tiredness have etched their way on to his handsome face, and his dark eyes no longer possess that authoritative, scheming spark. His visage is partially hidden beneath the brim of a battered fedora.

"It's interesting," Giovanni murmurs, tilting his head to the side and catching Red's eyes with his own. "It's interesting how I, the old man, have changed so much in the past three years. While you, with your whole life ahead of you, have not changed at all. We are a paradox unto ourselves, it seems."

Red says nothing, and the Boss smiles sadly.

"Are you still battling Team Rocket, Red?"

Red nods, though in all honesty he finds himself less and less determined with each passing day. A few mere hours ago he had encountered a Team Rocket burglary in progress and had simply walked away, tired of playing this endless game.

Giovanni shakes his head. "It is futile, my boy, this war you've started. Surely you've realized by now? Team Rocket will be gone soon, you know, but it will never truly die. Surely… Surely you see this?"

Silence.

The Rocket Boss sighs and tips his fedora, like one of those old-fashioned gentlemen in the era of black and white. He goes to walk around the boy, but stops and puts a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You've always been a member of Team Rocket, Red," he says quietly. "Everyone has, of course, but you most of all. All this time, you've been fighting against yourself – against your own innate nature. And that… Well, that is why you will never be truly satisfied. **There is evil in the world, Red, and it dwells just as much within you as it does within me.**"

Giovanni walks away and does not look back.

.

.

"Welcome home, Red," his mother whispers, catching him in a tight embrace. She has tears in her eyes because her boy is home at last after all these years, and he's all grown up and so very proud and handsome.

For the first time in a long time, Red smiles.


End file.
